Most people are familiar with the expression "the curate's egg"
meaning something bad in parts but with redeeming features
and when attempting to describe my morning it was the first thing
that sprang to mind by way of a description.
But then, when I thought about it, nothing really bad
happened nor, for that matter, anything truly astonishing
either - it was just a bit surreal.
So what could be more bizarre than a long dog's egg?
The urge to "do something" saw me up and out of the house
before sparrow fart in the company of my Ozzie daughter-in-law who
had a session for some serious waltzing of her Matilda booked in
at the local gym, so I tagged along for the ride
never having been to such an establishment before and
always up for a new experience or three.
I do now!
Being neither a born again virgin nor particularly active (sexually or
otherwise) which seemed to be the criteria for entry according to the
large panel in the foyer I thought I might somehow be
in the wrong place so while my little marsupial kinswoman
did her thing on the various instruments of torture I shimmied
off to see what the boys were doing downstairs and I
certainly wasn't disappointed. Quick stand me under a cold shower,
I'm not used to quite so much excitement in the space of half an hour.
Your eyes do not deceive you - these are bricks and the brick shop
was just another fun packed venue along the way on today's
magical mystery tour.
I had never before realised quite how many varieties there are on offer
and having finally decided upon two thousand of the
finest Norfolk red's to be delivered next weekend we went
on our merry way once more - there and back
just to see how far it is - and all on an empty stomach!
Can't wait to see what's on the agenda for this afternoon.
I wonder what I should wear, I think my jodphurs are still in the wash.